


john of all trades

by blueparacosm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, This is pure fluff, awkward!murphy, beautiful homosexuals, hunting is fun, somewhatfun!bellamy, useless tags are fun, what's going on in this fic im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueparacosm/pseuds/blueparacosm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy decides to bring Murphy along on a hunting trip, and he is an angry, childish disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	john of all trades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri/gifts), [thank you for the idea](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thank+you+for+the+idea), [which i ruined](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=which+i+ruined), [thanks anyway son](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thanks+anyway+son).



Murphy was lying on his bed in a ridiculous way, his torso slung over the side with his knuckles brushing the floor, as he hummed to himself and bounced his toes off of the wall. Curfew was a bit too early for his taste, and his quarters inside of the station, which he was surprised to be eligible to obtain, were suffocating- but it sufficed. He moved gradually around the tiny, colorless room, whistling different tunes as he tried to exhaust himself into sleeping.

When he had finally settled with the cold radiating off of the metallic floors biting into his shoulder blades, his legs propped up in the corner and feet moving up and down to skim the sharp angle absent-mindedly, his door swung open without warning. He jumped a bit, but stared at the ceiling still. “Murphy, what the hell are you doing on the floor?” rumbled a familiar voice, and the corners of Murphy’s lips twitched upward. “What the hell are you doing in my compartment?” He grunted, dragging his socked feet along the wall, tracing invisible patterns.  
“Well now I can finally answer everyone who’s been asking what you do in your free time other than spit on puppies and make babies cry.” Bellamy’s tone was almost playful, and Murphy was startled. Did Bellamy Blake just make a joke? “Who’s been asking?” Murphy fired back delightfully, enjoying the laid back (literally) banter. “Also- if you could land me a dog, I might be convinced to stop making babies cry.” He added, rolling onto his side and finally sitting up to face Bellamy, cross-legged on the floor like a child. “Why would you want a dog?” Bellamy asked, leaning against the doorway, which was letting in a draft, much to Murphy’s displeasure. 

He was almost frightened by the amount of casual conversation he had been having with the folks in camp lately, particularly the youth of camp. It was unusual and foreign, and the unfamiliarity of what seemed vaguely like the possession of redemption was both rewarding and nerve-wracking. They could turn on him at any moment, what if this was all a ploy? What if they were scheming to get revenge on him once and for all, plotting to finally end him, a simple suit of skin and sins and brilliant alliterations? Murphy pushed his paranoia to the back of his mind and cocked his head, which he convinced himself was not an effort to look endearing to the beautiful freckled God standing beneath his doorframe. “It wouldn’t speak, would do whatever I told it to, would bite people-“ Murphy feigned awe as he stared off into the distance with an amused glint in his now wide eyes. “And it would hunt with me, so I wouldn’t have to eat that crap from the mess hall.” He mused, resting his chin on his fist and leaning his bony spine against the steel compartment wall. “You’re an absolute creep, you know that?” Bellamy snapped after a long silence, straight faced. Murphy bobbed his head. “Some things don’t change.” He said with a small shrug and a laugh battling to escape through his lips.

“Anyways- speaking of hunting- we’re going out for a one day trip, and we’ve decided to leave at night so we can get a little farther out there than usual and have more time. More time equals more-“ “Time out of this hellhole?” Murphy interrupted, exploding into stance. “Yes, please. I don’t care if that was an invitation or not, I’m going with you.” Bellamy nodded slowly, eyes darting around the bare tin can that simply kept Murphy only slightly warm at night. “You should get some stuff in here, Murph. Do you even have blankets?” Murphy ignored him, strutting hastily over to his pathetic pile of clothes in the corner and shrugging on his coat. He hopped out of the doorway with one boot on, trying to tie the other while standing on one leg, and promptly shoving Bellamy out of the way. 

“Any day now, Grandpa!” Murphy called back to the older boy, dashing down the hall of the station like a child anxious to go play. In fact, now that Bellamy looked again, he was currently racing a thirteen year old boy down the Mecha station hallway. Now he’s pushed the child to the ground and slammed the doors in his face. “This should go well.” Bellamy grumbled, already regretting trying to include that imbecile in something. Next time he’ll just stick to letting him drink their bonfire party dry and have everyone place bets on which side of drunk Murphy they’ll experience this time- the one who brings everyone a ‘bouquet’ of weeds he’s just ripped out of the ground, or the one who punches everyone who gets in a five-foot radius of him.

-

“Let’s go!” Murphy repeated for the fifth time, aggressively jiggling his backpack in anticipation just outside of the gates. He sighs once or twice in exasperation, tossing up his hands and then running them through his newly washed but still messy hair. “Ninety-seven years later-“ He grumbles, flicking his tongue against his teeth several times. The others groan at the obnoxious, anxious teen. The hunting party consisted of three older men, Parke, Arthur and Riston, two ridiculously tough mothers, Robin and Bev, and a few delinquents, as in Monroe, Monroe’s friend Aspen, Miller, and-  
Bellamy glanced back at the gate after his headcount, looking for that last delinquent, who was currently making long, quick strides towards the tree line. “Damn it Murphy!” Bellamy shouted, snatching the canteen that Riston was still struggling to free from the loop of his belt and shoving it into his gloved hands, hurrying everyone along.

“I’ll get him.” Monroe sighed, sprinting towards Murphy, her quick legs pumping through the tall grass at a steady rate. “Come on idiot, and I don’t mean it lovingly- stay back with the group so you don’t become Pauna breakfast.” She mumbled, pinching his jacket to drag him back, but he shrugged her off. “I’d shoot one of those ugly monkeys in the face.” Murphy grumbled, eyeing the rising morning sun across the mostly clear field to his left. Monroe turned to Bellamy and tossed her hands up. “Sorry boss. He’s got his own route, I guess?” She yelled across the field, and Murphy smiled lazily at an ugly caterpillar squirming up the rotting bark of a log, paying no attention to them. “Follow the crackhead, we don’t know where we’re going anyway.” Bellamy told the loudly shuffling group, and they all swung their guns over their shoulders at once, Arthur doing so rather clumsily. This was a disaster.

-

“Shut up, damn it!” Murphy hissed, crouching slowly towards the first normal looking, single-headed animal they’d seen all morning, the rifle he’d finally earned the rights to bear cocked and rising slowly in his hands, prepared to line up for a head shot. Venison for dinner sounded good enough to him. He peered into the scope, squeezing one of his eyes shut and maneuvering his shoulder to get just the right angle as to not fall over or miss completely- snap! Murphy, startled, twitched his finger against the trigger and fired wildly into the tree, the most beautiful meal with a pulse he had seen in weeks racing off, frightened. That includes every other living thing in a radius of twelve miles, probably. He hadn’t done the math. Murphy turned his head slowly to the side, sitting up on his elbows after falling backwards in his scare, and Bev looked absolutely horrified. “I’m so sorry, guys! I stepped on a twig and-“ He glared at the woman, eyes narrowed, before Miller waved an arm between them. “It won’t happen again, let’s head in the direction it went, just because. West, was it?”

-

“So, how’ve you been? Haven’t talked to you in about a week or so.” Bellamy inquired quietly, stepping on every. Single. God. Forsaken. Leaf. “I mean- it’s been cool. I usually wake up, do whatever Clarke sends me off to do for the day, and every once in a while I go take a whiz or get some slop from the mess hall, then I go to sleep. And the next day I wake up, go work, eat, and sleep. And the next day I-“ “Alright, Murphy- I get it. You sure do complain a lot. So what does Clarke-“ Bellamy interrupted, but was in turn cut off by Murphy, who so comically slapped his index finger against Bellamy’s lips to shush him, staring dramatically off into the woods like he had seen something, that Parke laughed out loud. And what do you know, their next meal, a gigantic, probably really freaking meaty boar, took off through the overgrown brush and vanished. Murphy spun around on his heel and clenched his fists so hard his barely visible knuckles turned more white then they already were, what with his natural vampirically pale skin, and Robin held the boy back by his shoulders, immediately calming him with her mom magic. Bellamy wanted to know their secret. What is it with mothers, those mythical creatures? 

“John, just relax, okay? You’ve been doing good.” Robin soothed the best she could, Monroe grabbing at his sleeve to pull him away once again, as Parke’s fear vanished and was replaced by requited anger, and he glared daggers right back at the teen. They were both immature, but Bellamy thought they had just found a winner. “Let’s get moving again, we want to go back with at least something to show for it.” Miller mediated once again, using a machete he had somehow obtained to hack away the growth blocking their path, creating more branches to stomp on and snap, which Murphy just loved.

His fists had finally uncurled, nail-shaped crescent indentions left in the shirt sleeves turned fingerless gloves on Murphy’s palms, when he turned to Bellamy and raised his thick eyebrows. “What were you going to ask earlier, by the way, investigator?” He quipped with the tiniest of grins, and Bellamy huffed, a cloud of cold breath floating up in front of his face. “I was gonna ask what kind of jobs Clarke makes you do, but it seems kind of unimportant now that it’s irrelevant.” He muttered, and Murphy glanced to his left at the curly mop of brown hair he kind of wanted to touch. Kind of.

“Whatever she thinks I’m good at, which is pretty easy since I’m a jack of all trades. I can slap a good bandage on a scrape and I could probably gut a fish in about thirty seconds if I really tried. I’m an alright janitor myself, I’ll have you know, Blake.” He lifted his chin a bit with that, but Bellamy saw the opportunity and jumped for it. “That sudden puffing of your chest was cute and all, but “jack of all trades” basically means you’re just mediocre at lots of different things.” Bellamy suppressed a smile, continuing to look indifferently ahead at an approaching cedar tree. 

Murphy processed the first bit of the sentence, and suddenly perked up again, the anger falling right out of his ears. “So I’m cute, huh?” He pressed, biting the inside of his cheek like the idiot he was. Bellamy scrunched up his dotted nose, proceeding to glance at Murphy’s pink nose. He moved his eyes along the curve of his lips, the long bridge of his nose, and those admittedly striking eyes. Murphy was visibly giddy with all of the attention, and a laugh bubbled up inside of Bellamy but did not escape. “Yeah, you’re pretty cute, Murph. Too bad I’m with Harper.” He lied, face alight with joy, and growing brighter as he spotted movement to his left, an animal. “Wait! Wha-“ Murphy cried out, stumbling over his own feet and falling face first into the dirt in below him. And right on time, their prey scampered off.

Bellamy crouched down as the others groaned, and Miller fired a wild shot at the running animal on the off chance he might’ve gotten lucky and somehow hit the central mass of it. “Well, who are you gonna yell at this time?” Bellamy teased with that glint of mischief in his eyes that Murphy recognized from their earliest days on Earth. He was probably pink from head to toe in embarrassment, and the right side of his face was covered in a thin layer of mud. Bellamy reached out and swiped his hand across the side of Murphy’s face, creating a clean line straight down the middle of the mess, and Murphy sputtered, an awkward mess, literally. He scrambled off of the ground and shook some of the mud off of his pants and elbows angrily. “Shut up.” He grumbled, pacing quickly East, ready to go back to camp. “I didn’t say anything!” Bellamy cried out, the laugh that had been begging for release all morning finally winning him over. “No!” Murphy yelled, and Bellamy held his side, prepared to wipe away tears, oblivious of the stares the two were getting from the rest of the group. “It wasn’t a yes or no question! It wasn't even a question!” Bellamy yelled back, and suddenly Murphy began to sprint through the open field, his somewhat goofy way of running sending the entire hunting party into a fit of uncontrollable laughter at his expense.

Murphy decided he’d rather be almost publicly executed again.

-

After returning all of the supplies lent to him for the hunting trip, Murphy dragged his aching, tired body down the halls of the station towards his assigned compartment. “Another successful day for Murphy.” He muttered, swinging open the eternally shiny door and letting it bang against the wall on the inside of the room. 

“Wha-“ He started, immediately noticing a difference in the room. He stumbled over to the pile of crap on his bed, clumsy with exhaustion, and read the scrawl on a strip of fabric, a note. “Murphy, here is some stuff for your ugly compartment. See if you can figure out how to make a bed, jack of all trades.” It was signed Bell, with a tiny, poorly drawn heart in the corner. Murphy smirked and crumpled up the stupid note, tossing it into the corner. He knew he’d just unfold it and read it a hundred more times later, but, no reason to not pretend he didn’t want to. He shuffled through the stuff to find a random grey towel, two black sheets and a stained white blanket, full of holes, the usual, and a new pair of clothes. He immediately removed himself from the muddy ones he currently sported, changing, and returned to sorting through the pile of crap the wise man had brought. Another note had been hidden at the bottom of all of the various types of cloth. “Open your door.”

This was incredibly creepy, but he decided he would still open the door.

And there he was, the boy with a face of constellations in a space of sorrow, chestnut brown rings of iris around Saturn pupils, in all of his glory under the artificial light. “Do you bear gifts?” Murphy inquired, leaning heavily on the door handle. Bellamy whipped out another slip of fabric, and Murphy began to wonder where this steady supply of wannabe sticky notes was coming from. The slip simply read ‘free voucher to go hunting again?'.


End file.
